How a chronic beginner finishes writing a novel

I have a confession. I’m a chronic beginner. I have loads of interests, and I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to indulge a lot of them. However, I have to admit something. I never stick with something long enough to get really good at it. If I look over the past few years, I see myself enjoying lots of really cool hobbies. Horseback riding. Tennis. Sailing. I love all of them. So how come I can’t stick with any of them long enough to become good at them?

I found the answer in a friend of mine who owns horses. She loves horses. She lives horses. She rides really, really well, competes when she can, and is so comfortable around the enormous beasts they’re like another limb to her. She was meant to be a horsewoman.

Part of me envies her. I love horses. When I have time to ride, I really, really enjoy it. I even competed once. It was fun and terrifying all at the same time. I think I got a pink ribbon. Not sure what place that is. Seventh?

So how come I can’t be a horsewoman?

But I know the answer. It’s the same reason I don’t haunt the tennis courts or go sailing every weekend or even kayak, bike or garden as often as I probably could. I’m a writer. When I’m at my keyboard with the words flowing, I’m happier than I could ever be riding a horse. The chronic beginner in me becomes a finisher in the quest to achieve that transportation that comes when I’m writing well. It’s not even that hard to write 40,000 to 50,000 words if I let all my other hobbies go. If I let everything in my life go, I could probably write Michener-size novels.

Of course, that’s not going to happen.

I mention this because I just wrote the last line in the romance I’ve been working on for a while now. Since before summer started, actually. It’s a good feeling writing that last line, even when I know the story still needs a lot of work like this one. I’m still working on it, but I know how the story ends. I finished it.

We need a hero, or, What would happen to Superman if he really existed.

Imagine for a moment if Superman really did appear in the sky. A man flying through the sky would certainly raise a few eyebrows, and I imagine the red ink would really start to flow. Surely he took some performance enhancing drugs in order to fly, right? He couldn’t really be stronger than steel, and dammit, if an Olympic athlete can’t leap over a building in a single bound, no way can some honest-to-goodness superhero do it without taking drugs of some sort. Never mind that we can’t find it in any of our tests. Hell, he’s made of steel. We couldn’t even draw blood. We had to depend on the urine tests. And no, none of those were conclusive, and yes, he always cooperated with us, but there’s a whole bunch of people who used to work with him that say he took drugs. Reliable folks like Lex Luthor.

I know I’m exaggerating, but really, I sort of felt like somebody took a hero away from me when I heard Lance Armstrong was going to be stripped of his Tour de France titles. It’s just wrong. Lance Armstrong has never tested positive for drugs, and I have no doubt whatsoever that he has been tested more often than any other athlete ever in any sport. And he’s finally just gotten sick of fighting this battle with a federal agency whose jurisdiction in his case is questionable, at best, and they jump on his refusal to continue fighting and strip him of everything he’s earned.

What message is this supposed to send us?

I’m not a competitive cyclist, as anybody who has ever seen me pedaling along on my two-wheeler could tell you. I’m not an athlete or a sports writer (thank goodness). Maybe I don’t even have a right to speak up here, since I’ve never even watched the Tour de France on television. What I am, however, is someone who admires people who accomplish amazing things. Some of my heroes: Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Bill and Hillary Clinton (yep) and Kofi Annan. And, still, Lance Armstrong. Even if he never gets his titles back.

I believe some people have extraordinary abilities. Superheroes? No. But I believe it is possible to love something so much and work at it so hard that you hone your abilities and surpass anything anyone has ever done before. You can fine-tune your body to do amazing things if you have the drive to accept the pain. I do not believe that anyone could pass drug test after drug test for years and years and still be using drugs. I just don’t believe it’s possible.

What I do believe exists, however, are witch hunts. I think sometimes a group or an individual can convince themselves something is or isn’t true and search and search until they find “evidence” that supports their convictions, in spite of all the real evidence to the contrary that they’ve encountered over the years. These are the people who tell their kids the tooth fairy doesn’t exist, by the way.

I want someone to overturn the USADA’s decision. Give Lance Armstrong back what he earned and deserves. And for God’s sake, stop the witch hunt, already. Accept that he’s done something amazing because he worked hard to achieve it.

Contest and taking a break…or a breathing moment!

The days are getting shorter. Have you noticed? It’s no longer almost light at nine o’clock in the evening. The lightning bugs are still around, though. The oppressive heat has eased off a little and the sky is clear blue today. It’s August. Four months left until the Christmas season, two months left until Halloween, and only a week and a half left of summer break.

All this is my long-winded way of saying I’m taking a short break from the blogging thing. You might have noticed my teaser a few days ago. I want to do a something about Romance vs. Sex in fiction (not real life, although maybe I’ll mention that in reference to how it influences our preferences in fiction). I’m working on that and a couple of other things right now, but mostly I just want to enjoy these last few days of summer with my kids.

That doesn’t mean that my spy contest for Foreign Affairs isn’t still on. I will announce the winner of the random draw on Wednesday evening, so go check it out here: Mission Possible.

Get outside, kick a ball, go swimming or biking or take a walk. Breathe in the last bit of summer.

Music that isn’t mine or why there’s a gay woman in Where the Heart Lies: About Lulu.

I’m sitting here in my house listening to music that isn’t mine. We’re having work done (leaky windows), and the workmen have music. It’s good music, and I know you need something to listen to when you work, so I totally understand and don’t mind. But that music that isn’t mine got me thinking.

Why did I decide to put a gay woman in Where the Heart Lies? Heaven knows when I was writing her character, I felt like I was listening to somebody else’s music.

Lulu is a divorced mother of a five-year-old girl who befriends Alicia when Alicia moves to Hillsborough. Lulu is tough. She divorced her cheating husband and took over his sex shop in the heart of downtown Hillsborough. (Okay, there is no sex shop in downtown Hillsborough and probably never has been. I made it up, so don’t go looking for it!) Lulu worries about how her sexual orientation will affect her daughter, whether she grows up with one mommy or two. She’s able to shake off the disapproving looks and whispers that follow her around. She’s not a gossip, but she does enjoy the power of knowing who shops with her, and she hates the fact that her mother thinks her ex-husband “turned” her gay but she’s resigned to it.

Freud would probably say that Lulu is a part of me, but I don’t think that’s right. I think Lulu is a conglomeration of the things I’ve learned about the gay community over the years, even from my limited contact. Because I listen, I can hear their music, even though it isn’t mine.

I wish we could all remember to listen to other people’s music. Whether you’re ultra-liberal or ultra-conservative or (like me) somewhere in between, listen. Every community, every family, every individual has music and a story. Listen to it. The music may not be yours, but you might appreciate it, even if you don’t enjoy it.

Goodreads, Reviewers and Authors

Recently there has been some flap in the news about “Goodreads Bullies”. For those who aren’t familiar with the story, here it is (as I understand it) in a nutshell.

1. Some Authors have received some less than flattering reviews on Goodreads.
2. Some Reviewers have been accused by some Authors of being bullies.
3. Some Authors have started a website designed to bully the bullies.
4. Some Reviewers take objection to this because the founders of the website are “outing” them or publishing their personal information like names, addresses, phone numbers.

Okay, that’s it. It’s a pretty simple case as far as I’m concerned. Under no circumstances is it okay to bully someone online and writing a review, even a snarky one, is NOT bullying, but giving out someone’s personal information most definitely is. Authors have to be able to take criticism. Reviewers don’t. Reviewers are readers and (hopefully) their opinions are mirroring what’s out there in the real world. If we don’t want to know what readers think of what we write, we shouldn’t read reviews. Period.

Now that that’s said, I’d just like to say one thing to Goodreads reviewers. There’s a sort of perception that we as Authors are supposed to ignore the reviews posted about our books. We’re not supposed to acknowledge them in any way, shape or form. I didn’t realize this at first. When WHERE THE HEART LIES first started garnering reviews on Goodreads, I made a point of thanking the reviewers, even when the reviews were less than flattering. I’ve stopped doing that because it’s my understanding that it makes the reviewers uncomfortable. It’s kind of like eavesdropping, I guess.

What I want to say, though, is that even if I’m not responding to the reviewers, it doesn’t mean I’m not paying attention. Hello! I’m a person. I’m a writer. I write what’s in my heart and send it out to be trampled on as you guys see fit. Yeah, I’ve thickened my skin on purpose over the years, but every now and then the snark gets under it. At times I even allow myself to shake my head and slam my notebook computer screen shut. Once or twice I even put my head down on top of my shut computer and swore I’d never open it again.

Ten seconds later, I’m over it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not listening. I hear what you say over the tapping of my computer keys. We all do. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t give your honest opinions about what you read. You definitely should. But don’t make the assumption that books are written by computers. Books are written by people with hearts.

Cheese in my hair, or why I don’t care if my long hair is unprofessional.

A few minutes ago I was eating lunch and browsing my Twitter feed. I came across a Tweet about this article in the Huffington Post (one of my favorite online news magazines): The Truth is Out Ladies: Your Long Hair is Killing Your Career. I was immediately concerned. You see, a couple of years ago I turned forty and made a decision to stop cutting my hair. It’s now quite long. In fact, I’d venture to say that it’s longer than it’s been since I was twelve years old.

So of course I clicked on the link. I read the article by Maria de Cesare, who cites another news story by Vivia Chen on The Careerist (Too Old for that Joni Mitchell Look?). Ms. Chen says old women (women over 40, evidently), shouldn’t have long hair because it’s a youthful hairstyle that clashes with our features, which begin melting off our skulls at that age. Or something to that effect. Ms. Chen says long hair on older women just doesn’t work on older women. Ms. de Cesare points out that if your boss is more concerned about your hairstyle than your job performance, you’re probably in the wrong job. Oh my. What to do? Two very intelligent women giving opposing opinions about the state of my chosen hairstyle. I read on, hoping to find some guidance.

The one thing Ms. de Cesare and Ms. Chen did seem to agree on is that your hair needs to be well-kept, by which I’m assuming they mean shampooed and brushed on a regular basis. I breathed a sigh of relief. Oh yes. I do shampoo. And I brushed my hair this very morning. I looked down at my hair with pride. Unfortunately, at the same moment, I happened to squeeze my hot pocket a little too hard and a glob of cheese plopped out…right onto one glossy lock.

Crap. You can’t exactly call that well-kept. I snatched a napkin and wiped the cheese away and that’s when I made the discovery of how my hair had saved me.

You see, I happen to be wearing a white blouse. I look pretty good for a Saturday when I don’t plan to go anywhere. I don’t actually want to change, but if my hair had not been there to impede the cheese, it would have landed smack on top of my left breast, leaving a large yellowy-orange stain in its wake. Imagine the horror! And my hair actually saved me from it!

And so, the hell with detractors and critics and fashion police. I have long brown hair. It even has a grey streak. Deal with it.

Vanishing literature or just disappearing ink?

I recently read an article about a book with disappearing ink. You can read about it here: “The Book That Can’t Wait”. I’ve pondered this concept for the past week, and I have to admit I understand why the publisher’s first print run sold out.

Let’s face it. I’m already writing less-than-permanent novels, as are many writers. I have no illusions about my creations, and I’m not sure many other writers should, either. If I look at the shelves of my library, I see my favorite authors. Anne McCaffrey, L.M. Montgomery, Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austen, Stephen King, J.K. Rowling… I have some signed books from friends. I have a lot of poetry and folklore, some mythology, a few reference books. In short, I have sought my most permanent way of preserving the books I really care about.

My Kindle and Nook and iPad are a different story. They’re cluttered with anything that catches my fancy or needs to be read to keep up with my chosen genre. My books are on these devices. And you know what I’ve come to terms with?

One good EMP will wipe them all out.

When I first heard about The Book That Can’t Wait, I thought, “Oh my God, here I am fighting to get my books published, longing to have them in print, and these authors let a publisher put their stories into a book with vanishing ink? What’s wrong with them?” Now I sort of see their sacrifice as a show of solidarity with the rest of the changing publishing world.

So what’s the point? This is my take on it. If you think of the great post apocalyptic movies, a lot of them show a library somewhere. A library of printed books that are all that’s left of the literature of the world before. What books from today’s market will inhabit those shelves when so much of the “printed” word is electronic?

Or maybe the lesson is this: Read your e-books now. Who knows what will be left when the last Kindle is gone?

Confessions of a Contemporary Romance Author

“After all, a writer is a professional exhibitionist. The reader is the voyeur he hopes to lure.” –Mark Budman, a writer

Imagine being a contemporary romance author in today’s market. Of course, some of you don’t have to because you’re right there with me. Maybe you’ve gotten some of the same comments on your work that I have. I have been told that the sex in Where the Heart Lies is “practically nonexistent” and that the story “verges on women’s fiction”. I have two completely different reactions to these comments.

To the first, I react with disbelief. Okay, that sex scene that I labored on for an entire day isn’t actually in there? The one I actually blushed at when my husband read it? In fact, the first time I heard that particular comment, I took it literally. Holy cow, could it be the publisher had left out five pages of my manuscript? But no, they’re there. Evidently what I think of as pretty risque is actually kind of commonplace by today’s standards. No, I don’t write erotica, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t write about sex, but sometimes a sex scene is needed to move the story along. (Plus, I always felt a little gypped if I read a romance without a “good part”, and I don’t want to gyp my readers.)

The second comment I took as a compliment, although I’m pretty sure it wasn’t meant that way. Absolutely I write women’s fiction. I am a woman and I want to write about issues that concern women. I don’t believe all women want to read about is sex. (My apologies to the excellent erotica writers out there. What you write is an art form and has an audience when done well. I’ve read it. I don’t write it.) So what the hell is wrong with writing women’s fiction? Answer: nothing. If I write it well, it will attract the readers…right?

Once upon a time, the answer to that would probably have been yes. I’m not so sure these days. When you can walk in a bookstore and the first book you see is 50 Shades of Grey, well, you have to admit the times have changed. Women have undertaken a whole new revolution in what they want to read. Although I object to the use of the term “mommy porn”, I understand where it comes from. The current general acceptance of erotica is pushing romance authors to new extremes as far as their sex scenes go. A sex scene that once would have steamed up an editor’s glasses is now considered pretty tame stuff. And where one sex scene once would have been enough, it is now (ahem) inadequate.

What it comes down to is this. Publishers, editors and agents—pretty much everybody who is involved in making books—watch the market and what sells. Writers write. Some of us write what will sell by accident. Some of us write what will sell on purpose. And some of us write what’s in us to write and send it out to find its way with hope in our hearts. No matter what, without readers, well, we’re just exhibitionists that aren’t being watched.

I’m the number 3 most popular author today! (and a side note about erotica—it’s NOT “mommy porn”)

Today I’m at number 3 on the Carina Press “most popular” list. I’d love it if they’d call it a bestseller list so I could call myself a bestselling author, but I think there’s more that goes into the calculating of the “most popular” books than just sales, so… At any rate, I’d love to preserve my status as a popular author, so if you know anybody who’d like a good romance for a great deal, send them my way. You can refer them to the buy links on this site (look to your left), to Amazon, Barnes & Noble or the Carina Press site. Check out the Carina Press most popular books here: Carina Press.

By the way, the term “mommy porn” that’s being used in the media to refer to books like Fifty Shades of Grey is technically incorrect and degrading to both mothers and the writers of erotica. These books are not pornography, and women should not be ashamed of reading them, and I almost feel like this term will make women ashamed of reading what they enjoy. I don’t write erotica, and I probably wouldn’t be much good at it, but I respect the authors who can write it well.

Embrace your velvet-cloaked vampire: Go ahead and publish that book

I just read an article in Forbes called Don’t Publish That Book. It’s worthwhile reading. The author Suw Charman-Anderson publishes a Twitter conversation she had with authors Steve Mosby and Lou Morgan in which the authors bemoan their early stories, one of which was evidently about a vampire in a velvet cloak.

I enjoyed the article. It encourages writers to write until they’re good enough to be noticed and not to rush to self-publish. Charman-Anderson seems to indicate that if you get multiple rejections, there’s probably a reason for that. She’s probably right and I agree with her. Too many self-published books are published before they are ready. Please, please copy edit. Don’t rely on spell-check. It’s not infallible. And let a manuscript sit for a few weeks after it’s done, re-read it and then decide if you want to publish it. You might be surprised by the answer you give yourself. My self-published book Weeds and Flowers sat on my hard-drive for years before I got the go-ahead from my inner editor.

With that said, I will also add that we all have our stories about vampires in velvet cloaks. C’mon, if you’re a writer who started publishing within the last fifteen years, you have that story. That one story that’s still floating around in the ether somewhere waiting to come back and bite you in the ass. I know where mine is. Do you?

My point is that we live and publish in a different time. A new age for publishing. An age in which our mistakes and growing pains may make it into “print”. Yes, we need to watch ourselves, but we also need to embrace this new age. Imagine if we could read Stephen King’s first stories. I’ve heard Nicholas Sparks say his first novel was a horror novel. Now that would be some interesting reading.

One of my favorite books on my bookshelf is A Whisper in the Dark: Twelve Thrilling Tales by Louisa May Alcott. Of course, I don’t love the tales so much as I love the book. You see, Louisa May Alcott was my inspiration for becoming a writer. I loved all her books, read all of them, but my favorite, of course, was the semi-autobiographical Little Women, in which Jo, the character Alcott based on herself, writes “sensational” tales for the paper. The first time I read Little Women when I was about nine or ten years old, I couldn’t imagine what “sensational” meant. Later I got the idea that they must have something to do with sex, especially since Jo destroys them all in a fit of shame in the book. I read A Whisper in the Dark much later as an adult, and I wondered what on earth Alcott was talking about. They’re corny by today’s standards, and probably pretty dark and risque in the nineteenth century, but not the awful stuff I’d half been expecting.

Only now as I begin (notice I said “begin”) to reach my own maturity as a writer do I understand where she was coming from. But as a writer, I’m grateful not all of Alcott’s early works were lost. It makes some of my own early growing pains easier to bear.

Even now when I look back on Secrets of the Lotus, published almost exactly two years ago, I see things I would do differently. The same for Winter Solstice. If I’m fortunate enough to continue growing and developing as a writer—and I hope that will be a lifelong process—in five years I may reread Where the Heart Lies with tolerant disdain.

It’s a process. So whether an editor or publisher will take the time on your work or you self-publish it, you have to know that if you are one of the lucky ones, you won’t like what you write now in five years.